Therapy for Light
by ArceusGPG
Summary: To prove himself to L, Light has submitted himself for arrest. Unfortunately for him, L doesn't believe in the prison system.


"So this... killer notebook... does it talk to you?"

Light slapped his forehead in overwhelming aggravation. These therapy sessions were getting on his nerves, but he had to convince L and his band of morons that he was psychologically stable. He had specifically asked to be put in jail, not out on probation with psychoanalysis every Wednesday evening.

His fists clenched involuntarily, which was sure to be noted and recorded forever on the bastard's clipboard. Oh, that pissed him off to no end, having pointless questions shoved up his ass while the little man scribbled away on that outdated piece of technology. He was probably writing down a bunch of official-sounding lies to make him sound like a paranoid freak. Light knew he wasn't paranoid.

"No, you have it wrong," Light growled, trying not to sound too whiny. "It's a _Death Note_. It's an inanimate object, but if you write someone's name in it while thinking about their face, they die. Haven't you been listening?"

The pen started scribbling madly, causing quiet scratching sounds to echo in the tiny room. The office remained awkwardly quiet for a while, the silence only filled with the pen, the paper, and the psychologist breathing heavily, as if using a pen was strenuous exertion for the tiny, pudgy man. Light could even hear the sound of the psychologist's mustache being scratched after he had finished writing.

"Help me understand, here. What you're saying is that the demon voice told you to kill people with your death notebook?"

"It's the fucking Death Note!"

"Alright," the man said in his reassuring tone. He jotted something down, paused for a while, and then continued speaking. "Your Death Note. Is it like any other notebook that you carry around?"

Light, now on the edge of his plastic chair, was fighting the urge to stand up. The only thing stopping him was that notepad the psychologist was carrying. He might write that he was displaying aggressive behavior. Then L would know, and his father would know, and then he'd have to explain himself. It was better to bide his time and kill the man a couple of years later. He did, after all, carry a name-tag.

Curious. The man had never introduced himself formally, yet he carried a name-tag with his face on it. Was that L's way of tempting him to kill the man? If so, he had grossly underestimated Light's self-control. Killing him now would pretty much be the stupidest thing in the world to do, and Light was no fool.

Still... the idea of killing him immediately seemed so tempting. Ah, hell, he shouldn't have given the Death Note to Ryuk. The emo clown devil had probably flown off to his empty world, laughing at Light for believing that his memories would be erased. Or maybe the prick was sitting next to him, laughing at the stupid humans. Light was a human. No one has laughed at Light and lived. Well, except immortal beings that could only die of their free will.

Light poked the space next to him, even though he knew his hand would pass through Ryuk anyway.

"Yes, it usually appears as any other notebook," the student finally said after much delay. He was supposed to be the best student ever, but he was never seen studying or anything, except that one time where he ate some potato chips. Good times.

Light looked at the man with his best serial-killer expression. "But there's something _special _about that notebook."

The psychologist looked up at him, not even slightly wavered by the look he was given. "I know what's special about the notebook," he said in an ominous tone. "It has the words "death" and "note" written on the cover."

Light stood up. His jaw dropped in disbelief as the man began grinning back at him.

"_The human whose name is written in this book shall die_. Funny, the rules never say that you can tear out a page and still use it, but I've found that to be true... after _experimenting_ for a while."

What was once Light's staple, sinister expression quickly transformed into a pasty, unattractive contortion of his facial features. Thoughts raced across his mind, trying to comprehend what was happening.

"Oh," the man continued. "I happen to have a page with me, right here on my clipboard. In fact, it's what I've been writing on this entire time. Uh... do you want to know how you're going to die?"

Light's vision began to blur as dark mist crept into his vision. Each blood-rushing pulse felt like the heart's struggle to escape from his rib cage. It felt like his entire body was on the verge of collapsing. He could feel how sensitive, how frail, each of his organs were, suspended so precariously in a sack of flesh. In one true moment of helplessness, he began to realize what it was like to truly fear death.

"I wrote that you would accidentally trip and fall in the doorway. You'd land _juuust _right and end up breaking your neck."

Holding his clipboard under his arm, the man opened the door as dramatically as he possibly could. He watched Light's reaction as he casually walked into the hallway, speaking one last parting message.

"I won't tell you what time you're going to die, since that would take away all the fun, but you're free to leave anytime you want to. Watch your step on the way out."

**Author's Note: The troll psychologist strikes again! I'll leave it up to you whether or not the man was telling the truth.**

**I was going to make the entire story subtle, focusing on the man's clipboard as a symbol of Light's Death Note, but... eh.**


End file.
